


Fashion Sense

by Broba



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Fashion & Couture, Gay Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-29
Updated: 2012-05-29
Packaged: 2017-11-06 06:31:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/415829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Broba/pseuds/Broba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The kinkmeme prompt intrigued me- what if Kanaya gave uberderp John Egbert some well needed fashion advice? And as they say, the clothes maketh the man.</p>
<p>Yes there is banging also, duhh.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fashion Sense

“John, human darling, we need to Talk.”  
Kanaya was highly assimilated into human culture, at least by troll standards, but she still had a habit of speaking in a way that very distinctly Capitalised Certain Words.  
“What is it, Kan?”  
John turned and grinned amiably, and he casually ran the cuff of his left sleeve under his nose, wiggling it and sniffling. Kanaya winced.  
“John, it's about your Deportment and overall Sartorial Choices. They simply will Not Do.”  
“Uhmm, I'm not really sure what you mean Kan, is this a troll thing again?”  
“It is a Style thing, John. Like the elemental forces governing all of nature, true Style is both Timeless and Dimensionally Transcendent. Therefore, despite our differences, I feel qualified to Pass Judgement on your appearance.”  
John looked down at himself, then up again. “My appearance?”  
“John, I would point out your plastic footwear.”  
“I love my Crocs!”  
“And I note you have chosen to pair them with, I see, similar but not actually paired white socks.”  
“Oh? I guess my socks got mixed up. I have a ton of them, but it's all good right?”  
“No John, it is not All Good. Moving on, you are bizarrely favouring a boot-cut jean with riveted crotch and double stitched in-seam”  
“I-I guess? I hadn't really... I mean they were on offer, so...”  
“With Those Hips.”  
“Hey!”  
“I do not mean to be Critical, John. By which I mean that I entirely intend to be Critical, for your Own Good. You must trust me on this one.”  
“I guess... but I like these jeans.”  
“I note from your non-fitted crew neck t-shirt in, ah yes, a no less then sixty per-cent polyester blend cotton that you also enjoy the antics of three lupine fangbeasts and your human Moon.”  
“Yeah! Isn't it awesome? This is totally the kind of thing that a rough but kind-hearted outlaw wears you know!”  
“I will ask you to step this way John. Quickly now, we have much to do.”  
“Uh, Kan? You kind of look a bit scary when you stare at me like that,”  
“This Will Not Hurt.”  
  
John was guided calmly but firmly through the mall and through several of the higher class of clothing merchants. Kan had promised him a pleasant lunchtime of scones and soft drinks in the mall cafeteria. Being the only troll who habitually came out during the day time she often found herself at a loose end and John liked to indulge her with companionship. In honesty, she was a lot easier to deal with then some of the others. Her calm imperturbability was comforting.  
  
Now, however, John was being prodded and measured in places that he was certain a measuring tape had no business, and Kanaya was discussing things like cloth weight and drape with a snooty-looking assistant who seemed to treat John like an unfortunate case of mould that had infested the store. Kanaya seemed to know exactly how to talk to these people. She understood words like denier and corduroy. John was starting to get bored, and was seriously in danger of just wandering off in search of something more interesting to do when he was manhandled into a changing room cubicle. It was the kind that had a thin drape hanging from jangly shower-curtain rings separating his modesty from the outside world. A gray hand snaked inside and waggled a fingertip at him admonishingly.  
“You will now Undress.”  
“I will not! No way this is embarrassing!”  
“Not nearly as Embarrassing as a stone washed denim jacket with rolled-up sleeves.”  
“Kan!”  
“Undress. I am more then willing to Help the process, your human clothing may not survive intact if I do.”  
John pulled off his shirt with a low whine.  
“Why are you even doing this, Kan?”  
“There is an old human saying, which states that it is the clothes that make the man. Have you heard this?”  
“I guess.”  
“I'm going to make a Man of you, John.”  
  
Time passed. Kanaya paced fitfully outside the cubicle as the sound of rustling and zipping faded.  She heard him stand up straight, turn. She imagined him looking at his profile in the full length mirror, she heard a soft “huh.”  
  
The curtain was drawn back and he stood there, regarding her. Kanaya smiled darkly and reached out, gently plucking the glasses from John's face.  
“Kan! I need those!”  
“You need these more. I had them produced especially, to your human ocular specifications.”  
She slipped a new pair of glasses on him. In fact they were darkened lenses, set in a discreet set of Bakelite wayfarer style frames, a subtle deep tea-brown that cast a shadow over his eyes without totally hiding them. John regarded her steadily.  
“Well then? What do you think?”  
  
John was now wearing a buff suede blazer with a narrow cut breast and matte black buttons and a dull cream pocket square. He had on the Oxford weave shirt she had picked out and she adjusted the collar slightly. The slacks in darker olive herringbone tweed were simple but effectively and carried a firm masculine line down to his stylish brogues.  
“Oh my, John.”  
“Is, is it good? I feel weird, like I don't really know what I should be doing! Do I keep my hands in my pockets or what?”  
“Relax, John. It is working for you, believe me. I lack a sexually dimorphic reproductive system and even I feel the need to, as they say, cut of a slice of that for later.”  
“Kan!”  
She smiled and patted his cheek. “If you have the correct attitude and aloof bearing, then the outfit will do the rest John.”  
“I don't even know how to be any of those things!”  
Kanaya bit her lip thoughtfully and twisted a length of hair around a fingertip. “I think I have an idea, will you try something?”  
“Sure,”  
“Just picture the most self-assured and dispassionate human male you can, and just do whatever you think they would do.”  
John frowned and thought about this for a moment.  
“Um, I think I can try?”  
“Think of it as acting, much like your human Nicholas Cage or human Will Smith do.”  
John tilted his head down and regarded Kanaya over the rim of his darkened glasses for a moment.  
“Okay.”  
“John what are you thinking?”  
John touched the bridge of his glasses with his third finger and slowly pushed them back up his nose to mask his eyes, “cool things.”  
“Oh, My.”  
  
It had been an interesting evening, to be sure. Dave slouched out of his room and wandered into the lounge out of boredom, hoping to find something truly shitty to watch on their stolen cable, and John was just _there_. Dave hadn't even heard him come in. He was stood against the windowsill, leaning an elbow on it, his hand draped just-so. Waiting to be noticed patiently. John looked up, slowly. Dave opened his mouth to say something and John held up a finger. Dave closed his mouth.  
“Sup,” said John.  
“Uh, John?”  
John grinned, “yeah-h-h-h.”  
“Just checking, on account of how very much not like your own fuckin' self you look right now.”  
John  slowly drew a hand down his lapel, “you like?”  
Dave licked his dry lips self-consciously and nodded, “yeah, you look. I dunno. Kind of, grown up?”  
John shoved away from the wall gently with a sigh and smiled, “we all have to sooner or later. I thought the whole passage-of-time thing was your deal.”  
  
Dave ran a hand through his ash blond hair and watched John slink across the room. There was no doubt about it, he was slinking. He suddenly looked as though he might kick down a door and arrest a drug dealer, or order food in Chinese. He looked like he could handle anything. The change was physical and immediate, and it was making his head feel strange.  
“What the fuck, dude? Did you hit your head or something?”  
John turned slowly and looked at him. Those glasses were practically opaque, but Dave thought he saw a flutter of eyelids, just once. John touched a couple of fingertips to his own chest, tapping gently.  
“Maybe I hit my heart.”  
Dave knew for damn sure that didn't mean a thing but he felt goosebumps crawl obnoxiously up his neck and strained not to shiver. He had no idea what had come over his best friend but suddenly, miraculously, John Egbert was cool. Daddy cool. Crazy like a fool cool.  
  
Dave croaked, and swallowed hard, shaking his head. “The fuck is going on around here? This is some weird space-time alternate timeline bullshit or something.”  
The door to Bro's room slammed open and the man himself stridered and nodded at Dave before pausing and regarding John.  
“Huh,” he opined.  
John tilted his chin up a fraction. “Hey long-tall, sup?”  
Bro performed an elaborate over-wrought double take and grinned. “Who the fuck is this chill motherfucker?”  
John grinned, “stick the boner back in the box, it's just me, John.”  
“Yeah?” Bro looked over at Dave who just shrugged, then back at John, “'bout time you got your shit together. Nice threads.”  
“Like what you see, huh?”  
Bro hesitated. He could shake the feeling that he was being challenged, somehow. In his own place of residence no less. The king was being called out in his own castle.  
  
Suddenly and with no intervening steps taken Bro was all up in John's grill, flashing into existence up close and leaning over John threateningly.  
“Watch the tone, kid.”  
John pursed his lips and blew softly. The breeze leaving his lips splashed across Bro's shades and left a crisp patina of frost.  
“Chill.”  
Dave piped up behind them nervously, “Jesus you two, heh, get a room.”  
Bro touched the first and second fingers of his right hand to his shades, just over his eyes. Expanding circles of black plastic spread from them rapidly as the heat of him melted through frost. He touched his wet fingertips against John's lips without asking, and John applied just a touch of firmness, the merest essence of a kiss.  
“Good idea baby Dave. Don't wait up.”  
When they left Dave collapsed onto the couch and let out a weary breath. That had been intense. He casually pressed his palm down on his crotch and grimaced.  
“Back in the box, traitor.”  
  
From the sound of Bro's room came a mighty thump.  
  
John was pressed up against the wall where Bro had pushed him. He pulled his coat off, sliding it down his arms slowly, and peeled down the black leather braces with a snap. Bro crossed his wrists and pulled his white shirt up and over his head smoothly, revealing a torso that could have been carved of porcelain. Despite the Texas sun John could see every muscle picked out in milky white flesh. When Bro moved it was like watching a fingertip run through cream. John pulled open his own shirt button by button. Compared to Bro he was duskier with a dusting of freckles here and there. His black hair complemented rather then contrasting with his skin like melting butter in sun.  
  
John was feeling a heady sense of self that he was unused to. Kanaya had been right, it was all an act. He just pretended to be a new person and let the clothes do the rest, and amazingly the rest of the world seemed to be in on the act too. He had no idea what he wanted to do or why he was doing it, but he knew for sure that new John took what he wanted and liked it. He looked Bro over, and thought about some new things for new John to like.  
  
Bro seized one of John's hands in both of his, John's fingers were enveloped in fingerless glove and Bro was suddenly biting his fingertip , and John suddenly didn't mind even a little bit. Bro gripped John's wrists and ducked down, flexing his back and lashing his tongue up the narrow groove between John's pectorals sharply. John made a sound.  
“You like that, little man?” Bro asked redundantly.  
“If I say I do will you marry me?”  
“You got a face full of cheek.”  
“Couple in my pants too.”  
Bro span John around and he found himself planted roughly against the wall, staring into an incomparably shitty poster. Bro's hands were on him and over him, and his trousers were stripped down his legs firmly. John pressed his thighs together and leant his weight on one foot, cocking his hips at an angle and giving Bro a perfect example of how best to fill out tighty-whities. Bro liked that and would have said so but John wasn't letting him simply have his own way. John's palms slapped against the wall suddenly and a powerful gust of air surrounded them. In a small explosion of air they were bodily tossed across the room and when they collided on top of Bro's bed John was on top and all over him.  
  
John ripped open Bro's rough denim pants with a snarl of effort and the zipper parted to him easily. Bro grunted and lifted his hips, letting John take the lead and strip him. In proper Strider fashion he wore nothing beneath except sometimes a tiny beret. Bro arched his back and snaked his hands around the bars at the head of his bed. John breathed again, and Bro felt a wind as chill as a crisp winter morning in up-state New York wind around his body and caress him with the scent of snow. John grinned and nudged the tip of his nose against a hard nipple, then kissed it tenderly. The warmth of it made Bro shiver all the more.  
“You taste good, Mister Strider,”  
“Glad you like it Mister Egbert.”  
“Sounds like you're talking to my dad when you call me that.”  
“Heh, I guess.”  
“Don't stop.”  
Back in his room, Dave was trying to mouse-draw a comic with little success. It was looking shitty but the entirely wrong kind of shitty. There was another thump that reverberated through the apartment and he saw dust shake loose from the ceiling with a quiet hiss.  
“Those two,” he muttered darkly, “fuckin' rude, is what it is. Rude.”  
  
John hooked his elbow under Bro's knee and pressed his leg up and back. Their bodies collided tensely, their lips collapsed together, their eyewear clinked. They found each other and made their ways into each other. They rolled and Bro pushed him down, exerting control and force to wield his sexuality like a weapon and bring John to heel. In exchange John blasted him with an icy gust and filled him with raw energy and youth. They tasted each other in all of the ways they needed to. They used their teeth and their nails. John was pleasingly firm and robust, Bro didn't have to hold back or be gentle. For his part, Bro was as agile as a snake and for all his effort John could never quite pin him down, not that the effort wasn't rewarding.  
  
John came first, throwing his head back and shaking violently as he released. Bro held him and kept him close while the shakes passed, letting John kiss and stroke him hungrily. Bro came exactly when he intended to and John squealed in surprise.  
  
John lay back in bed exhausted, and something dripped from the rum of his glasses onto his cheek. He took them off and casually rubbed the edge of the blanket over them. Bro rolled onto his flat belly and leaned up on his elbows, watching John impassively.  
“Nice,” he said curtly.  
“Hmm?”  
“Nice eyes. I didn't notice 'em before. Cool.”  
John blushed at that. He looked down at himself as if noticing his nudity for the first time and awkwardly rolled over a little to discreetly wrap some blanket around himself.  
“Hey Egbert.”  
“Uhmm. Yeah.”  
“Put your glasses back on.”  
John brought his breathing under control and slipped the darkened glasses back on over his eyes. Just like Kanaya told him, he imagined he was the coolest guy. He pictured Dave.  
“Cool.”  



End file.
